


Like it Should (make it hurt)

by alwayseven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Punishment, Spanking, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayseven/pseuds/alwayseven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note: considerably underage - Sam is twelve.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Like it Should (make it hurt)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: considerably underage - Sam is twelve.

The thing Dean has learned about his little brother is that what Sammy needs is a firm hand. Not discipline, not the way Dad keeps them both in line, keeps them obedient.

Sam needs someone to hold him down, give him what he wants.

It's always set off by something small, Sam getting a poor grade on a test he studied hard for, being disappointed by something Dad did or didn't say, Dean eating the last of the Frosted Flakes. Sometimes it's just because it's a sunny Tuesday, because Sam is twelve and incapable of controlling his emotions, his hormones.

Sam sulks, stomps around the house like a pissy girl on the rag until Dean stops what he's doing, and says, all low and warningly, "stop."

It took a few times, a few long afternoons of teaching Sam, pulling out of him what he needed, what he wanted. Dean's diligence was rewarded and now all Dean has to say is _stop_ and Sam goes still, usually a sullen pout on his face but he stops bitching and flailing about like a drunken cat.

"Go inside," Dean says to Sam now, after Sam threw the remote at the TV because Dean wouldn't let him watch Mythbusters.

Dean can see the struggle. Sam wants to fight back. He always wants to fight back, he's never satisfied with taking what Dean says without a war. But Dean can see from the stretch of denim pulling tight across the small, hard line of his little boy cock that Sam's not going to argue.

Sam huffs and sighs but he goes, stomps his way into the bedroom knowing the more of a fuss he makes, the more Dean'll give him.

Dean's seventeen, he doesn't have much self-control, especially not when it comes to Sam, but he manages to stay where he is on the sofa for close to half an hour, letting Sam get worked up.

Sam's the most fun when he's riled up, begging for what he wants.

Dean's hard when he walks into the room. He's alread palming at his dick, lazily flicking open the button of his jeans and he stops just inside the room when he sees Sam.

Sam's laid out face down on the double bed, naked the way he's supposed to be, the way Dean taught him. Dean stifles his groan as he takes it all in, Sammy's pale smooth skin, the young shape of his body.

He'll be 13 in a few weeks and he's just starting to grow into his body, filling out a little. He still looks younger than his years, soft baby skin, gangly arms and legs, a slight swell of belly from the baby fat all of Dad's training hasn't quite cured him of.

Dean works his dick a little, just because he can't help it. Sam's got his cheek pressed to the pillows, arms at his side, ass just slightly tilted back. He's breathing heavy and his face is flushed hot, his hair damp against his skin.

Dean knows it's taking every ounce of will Sam has not to work himself against the mattress. Sam knows better, though.

"Did that make you feel better, Sammy?" Dean asks quietly, leaning his hip against the doorjamb. "Throwing things make you feel in control?"

Sam grunts quietly.

Dean watches Sam try to keep still, resist the need to turn over so he can see Dean.

"Tell me," Dean says, less lazy, sharper.

"No," Sam grits out and he's irritated that Dean's pushing him. "It didn't make me feel better."

Dean moves into the room. "Get up," he says.

Sam hesitates. He always hesitates, gets shamefaced and pink cheeked at Dean seeing how much he wants it, the way his dick leaks at the tip just from the way Dean talks to him, just from the slow build of anticipation.

Dean waits, lets Sam take his time with this because from here on out, Sam doesn't get a say.

Sam rolls to his feet and Dean takes him in, pride and pleasure at this, his lovely little brother. Sam's dick is wet at the tip, Dean's favorite thing in the world, knowing how much Sam wants this.

Sam's staring him down, despite the flush on his face, the way his teeth cling to his lower lip. He's got that familiar stubborn set to his shoulders, despite being bare assed naked, his dick rock hard and wet for Dean.

That's Dean's boy, _his_ Sammy, refusing to give an inch despite how much he _wants_.

Dean sits himself down in the old arm chair by the bed, slouches a little, his t-shirt rucked up his belly, the button of his jeans flicked open so Sam can see the head of Dean's dick poking up, so Dean can show Sam what he's going to get.

"Come here, Sammy," Dean says, low and sweet, resting his head back against the chair and watching the way Sam's body moves, the ripple of underdeveloped muscle, his cock bobbing against his belly, his legs just barely shaking.

Sam stands between Dean's splayed thighs. Dean gives Sam a slow once over, slides his gaze over Sam's body. Sam's eyes are dark and heavy lidded when Dean looks up. He's sucking on his lower lip.

Dean lets Sam stand there for a few minutes while Dean takes his sweet time, trying to get his fill of Sammy, though he's resigned himself to the fact that where Sam is concerned, Dean will never get his fill.

Dean's got several options here and he wants them all.

Dean wraps an arm around Sammy's thin shoulders and Sam inhales sharply, surprised, no time to adjust before Dean's laying him out, face down in Dean's lap, legs hanging over the arm of the chair, his face hidden in the opposite side cheek tucked against the worn fabric.

Sammy's tense, holding himself rigid in Dean's lap.

"Yeah, Sammy, you know what's coming," Dean says, low. He slides his hand down Sam's back, his soft sweat warmed skin, feels Sam try to hold back his shivers.

"How many do you think that little tantrum deserves?" Dean asks, lazy, taking his time with this.

He rests his palm flat on the sweet curve of Sam's ass, lets Sam feel.

Sam doesn't answer, stubbornly drawing it out.

Dean hits Sam then, raises his palm and brings it down to Sam's ass, a loud, sharp crack in the quiet of the room.

Sam cries out, surprised even though he knew it was coming.

"I asked you a question, Sammy," Dean warns, soothing the warm skin.

"T-ten," Sam stutters, voice high, needy. He's shifting restlessly and Dean grins to himself, loves the way Sam gets off on this. By the end he'll be rutting shamelessly against Dean's thigh trying to bring himself off, even though he knows he won't be coming until Dean gets his dick inside Sammy's tight pink little hole.

"Fifteen it is," Dean says, letting his fingers trail up the crack of Sam's little ass, tips just barely skating over his tiny pucker.

Sam shakes, lets out a low noise like a sob.

"Count 'em out for me, Sammy," Dean says by way of warning.

The first one, the loud smack of Dean's palm against Sam's soft pale skin makes Sam let out a choked noise and he burrows his weight against Dean, bracing himself.

"One," he mumbles, not much louder than a whisper.

The next one comes harder, in the center of his ass that makes Sam tense up.

"Two," Sam shudders, gripping Dean's jean-clad legs, trying to both get away and work himself closer.

Dean's dick is painfully hard, made worse by the pile of squirming Sammy. He doesn't have the patience to draw this out. He keeps the pace steady, smack after smack against Sam's ass but he doesn't tease.

Sam's crying a little, sniffles and broken voice, when Dean gets to number fifteen.

Dean doesn't give him time to hide himself, to catch his breath, just slips an arm around his middle and flips him to his back.

Dean lets out a low groan and has to close his eyes for a brief second to get his bearings. Sam's eyes are wet, his skin flushed pink and sweat-damp, his lower lip swollen. His little cock is red and wet, jutting up against his belly.

Dean palms it, covers the length of Sam's cock with his palm, presses it to Sam's stomach.

Sam cries out and turns his face, presses his cheek to dean's thigh and his hips come up to push into Dean's hand.

"You want to come like this?" Dean asks. It doesn't really matter what Sam wants, not right now. But Dean asks anyway.

Sam shakes his head, pulls his lower lip between his teeth.

Dean closes his fist around Sam's dick and slides it slowly down the length, the wet slick at the head easing the glide. "You better tell me what you want," Dean says, squeezing just a little too tight.

Sam lets out a sharp cry and Dean pulls back fast, can tell how close Sam was just then to losing it all over both of them.

Dean strokes his hand between Sam's legs.

"Dean," Sam gasps out, "don't make me say it," even though he knows better.

Dean cups Sam's balls. "You know, I think maybe I could leave you here, alone, with your hand and your empty ass, all strung out like this and needing. Yeah," Dean says, shifting like he's thinking of getting up. "I'll just go find Rosemarie, she was saying how she wanted to see me."

It's manipulative and it works like a charm, the minute Dean shifts his weight to his feet like he's about to dump Sam to the floor, Sam blurts out, "don't, Dean, don't leave me, please, just. Please, put it in me." He's babbling, embarrassed, shamed and too turned on to do anything more than plead.   
 Dean gives Sam a slow, dirty smile. He gets an arm underneath him and manhandles his small frame so he's got his knees on either arm of the chair, hovering over Dean while Dean works his jeans down his thighs, kicking them to the floor.

Dean settles Sam in his lap, Sam's small ass rubbing Dean's dick, getting it lined up against the crack of his ass so it slides, skin on skin, slick with Dean's pre-come.

Sam's got his thin arms draped over Dean's shoulders, mouth open, hair in his eyes as he pants, desperate.

Dean fumbles towards the table between the chair and the bed, grapples in the drawer for the little bottle of lube and pushes it into Sam's hands.

Sam frowns. "Dean," he mumbles, tucking his face against Dean's throat. "You do it, please."  
 Dean cups the back of Sam's neck and pulls him back so he can a good look at Sam's face, his heavy lidded eyes, his flushed sweaty face.

Dean just looks at him expectantly, waits for Sam to tell him what he wants.

Sam tries to shove the lube back at Dean. "Dean, fingers, put your fingers in me please," he moans, little sounds lost in his throat, all needy.

Dean chokes on a groan. There's nothing hotter than his baby brother gagging for it, gagging for Dean's fingers, his dick.

Dean wraps his fingers around Sam's wrist, helps him pour lube on his hand.

"No," Dean says, catching Sam's chin when Sam tries to tuck his face back in against Dean's chest. "Look at me, I want to see you when I slide my fingers in your ass."

Sam's face goes redder but he sets his jaw and looks at Dean as Dean works his hand between them, pushes between Sam's thighs.

The first finger goes in slow and slick. Sam's mouth drops open, wet, and he makes little "ah" noises. Dean pushes in with one finger, all the way and lets Sam adjust to it, makes Sam tell him when he wants more.

Dean barely gets two fingers in before Sam's shifting and writhing and begging, "now, Dean, ugh, I need it now."

Dean has to grip his dick, low and tight at the base, to keep from shooting his load all over both of them.

He pulls his hand from Sam, smears his sticky wet fingers over his dick, getting himself slicked up.

Dean curls his other hand around the back of Sam's neck and brings him forward, brushes a chaste kiss over Sam's mouth. Sam's mouth drops open and he licks frantically at Dean's lips, sucks on his tongue and breathes heavy and hard.

"Ready, Sammy?" Dean mumbles. He grips Sam's hip and helps him get the right leverage, weight on his knees braced on Dean's thighs.

"Come on, sit on my dick, ride me," Dean tells him, words pressed to Sam's mouth, both of them breathing hard.

Dean's head falls back when the head of his dick breaches Sam, a slow, tight glide that Dean doesn't think he'll ever get used to no matter how many times he and Sammy do this.

Dean doesn't want to miss this though so he brings his head up, watches Sam's face as Sam slowly takes Dean inside him, all the way in.

Sam doesn't move. His face is wide open, that familiar shocked look like he can't believe he's got his big brother's dick in him, spreading him wide.

Dean lets him set the pace with it. Sam's still pretty small for his age and it's still kind of miraculous to Dean that Sam can take it, take Dean's dick and get off on it.

Sam's breathing hard, too hard, like he might pass out. He rocks ever so slightly, a minute shift of his hips that works him just right on Dean's cock and Dean curls his fingers Sam's hips, pressing bruises to his perfect, pale skin.

Sam presses himself to Dean, arms around Dean's shoulders, bare chest pressed to Dean, rubbing against the cotton of the shirt Dean never got around to taking off. Dean holds Sam to him, an arm around his lower back, his other hand pressed to the back of Sam's head, both of them trying to get as close to each other as possible.

Sam's little dick slides in the warm skin of Dean's belly where his shirt's rucked up and Den can tell how close Sam is from the way he jerks and cries out, sharp little sounds.

"Come on, Sammy, you going to come with my dick in you?" Dean mumbles into Sam's skin, egging him on. "You like your big brother inside of you, filling you?"

"Tell me who you belong to," Dean whispers and it's not a command, it's gentle, a need to know that Sam needs this as much as Dean does.

"Yours, Dean," Sam breathes, eyes closed, searching blindly for Dean's mouth. Dean uses his grip on the back of Sam's head to press their mouths together, grips Sam tight around his waist and thrusts up hard and sharp.

"Ah, Dean!" Sam sobs, shakes and Dean feels it, feels Sam's cock spurt thick and wet between them, come on their skin.

Dean almost loses it as Sam's body clenches around his dick. Sam's still moving, an awkward rhythm like he's trying to fuck the last of his orgasm out of his dick.

Sam's still frantic for a little while after he comes, slight body shaking with the force of his orgasm.

Dean's too close to draw it out anymore, he's going to come and fast. "Where do you want it?" Dean breathes, thrusting a little faster, harder. It's not far off.

Sammy shakes and shudders and says on a sob, "ugh, dean, mouth," hiding his face in Dean's throat, shamed.

"Yeah, that's my boy," Dean groans. It's coming, he's close, and now that Sammy's all warm and plian, Dean's in danger of shooting off inside that tight heat.

Dean throws his arms around Sammy's shoulders, holds him close and surges to his feet.

"Ah!" Sam cries out, a sob, as Dean's forced deeper. Sam's clinging to Dean's shoulders, thighs gripping his hips.

Dean gets Sam on the bed. He kisses Sam's slack, pink mouth and nearly comes when Sam tightens his arms around his neck and kisses Dean all needy.

Dean grips Sam's thigh, brings it to the bed, forces him open. Dean's resting his weight on his knees and he watches as he slowly pulls out, Sam's body clenching around him, trying to keep him inside.

Dean shudders, needing back inside Sam. His come on Sam's small pink mouth, staining his flushed skin, he wants that more so he pushes up the bed until he's straddling Sam's chest. He thumbs Sam's swollen bottom lip. "Mm, yeah, Sammy, I'm going to come in your mouth, on your face." Dean's voice is gone, hoarse, and he's shaking with the need to come but he settles himself enough to gather Sam's thin wrists, pushes his arms over his head and pins them to the mattress with one hand.

He grips his cock with the other. "Open that pretty pink mouth to me, Sammy," Dean mumbles. He smears the head of his leaking dick over Sam's lips, across his cheek. He leaves a trail of wet slick on Sam's unmarked skin, still the hottest thing Dean has ever seen even after all this time. So hot he barely has time to shove inside Sam's hot little mouth before he's coming. The first pulse hits the back of Sam's throat, and he grips himself, jerks out enough so the next splash lands on Sam's mouth, followed by another on his cheek, some landing in his hair.

Dean shudders, groans, as Sam opens his eyes, catches Dean's gaze. Dean touches the tip of his thumb to Sammy's cheek, gathers the mess and drags it down, pushes it at the corner of Sam's mouth until Sam opens up. Sam pulls Dean's thumb between his lips, sucks hard at it until Dean pulls away, catching on Sam's teeth to pull his mouth open. Dean can see the shocking white of his jizz on Sam's tongue. He grips Sam's jaw, forces his mouth wider.

"Show me how much you love my spunk in your mouth," Dean breathes, still catching his breath. Sam's licks the corner of his mouth, gathers what he can and doesn't look away as he swallows it all, lets Dean see his throat working.

"Good boy," Dean groans, rolling to the mattress.

He hauls Sam with him until Sam's lying above him, weight on his knees. Dean slides a hand into Sam's hair, brings him down to lick inside Sam's mouth, suck at his lower lip.

He can feel Sam shaking above him, rutting himself against the still half-hard shape of Dean's dick, Sammy hard all over again, his dick sliding against Dean's belly.

"You gonna come again, Sammy?" Dean curls his fingers in Sam's hair, tightens and pulls Sam back, just hard enough for Sam to let out a low cry, his dick jerking against Dean's stomach.

 

[ the end ] 


End file.
